


The Sun Always Rises

by The13thBlackCat



Series: Maker, Know My Heart [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The13thBlackCat/pseuds/The13thBlackCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The immediate aftermath of Haven; alternately, "Maenfen almost dies for the 27th time and Cullen remains in constant freak-out mode".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Always Rises

   When Maenfen came to, the first thing he was aware of was the overwhelming chill and the cold stone under him. The second, when he tried to move, was the blinding agony in his chest. 

   He fell back on the floor with a grunt of pain, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched as he waited for it to pass. There was still an ache there after, and he was slowly becoming aware of other pains, mostly in his back and lower arms. Those were lesser, though, and he hoped they were only bruises and not something worse. 

   Breathing hurt, and he tried to keep it shallow and even as he attempted to recall what had happened. The attack on Haven, Corypheus, the avalanche…and getting knocked down here after in the chaos. Wherever here was. 

   That was good, though. He didn’t think there were any major holes in his memory, so while his head ached, it was probably not in terrible shape. His eyes flickered open and he turned his head carefully, trying to figure out where he was. 

   It was dark, aside from the light spilling in from the partially-buried hole above him, so he couldn’t make out much…but it looked like a cavern of some kind, with some of the remains of one of Haven’s trebuchets scattered around him. Miraculously, his staff was also there, though it was too far to reach without moving, which was, apparently, out of the question; the elf closed his eyes in concentration, altering the pull of gravity around his hand. There was a chorus of soft scraping sounds as everything loose in range responded, sliding towards him—among them was his staff, and as soon as his fingers closed around it he let the spell loose with a short breath. Something so simple shouldn’t have taken that much effort, and that didn’t bode well for his general state.  

   He took as deep a breath as he could manage and mentally prepared himself to try standing again. One way or another, he needed to be on his feet. He closed his hand tightly around his staff, maneuvering it until it rested against the ground. 

   He was expecting the pain this time, so it was less debilitating when he tried to get back to his feet, using his staff for support. He only made it to his knees before he had to pause, leaning on his staff and breathing as heavily as he could. The next attempt was easier, and though he was a bit unsteady, he wasn’t in as much pain as he’d expected to be. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought, then; who knew how long he’d been lying there? He might have just gone stiff. 

   At least, he hoped so. Gritting his teeth, he slipped a hand under his coat, against his ribs. There was no blood, as far as he could tell, but when he pressed down he felt movement under his fingers, behind the pain. _Bad._ But broken ribs were survivable, if not pleasant. He raised the hand furthest from the injury, veilfire lighting in his palm and illuminating the area. 

   He had fallen into a cavern, but one with a single corridor leading out. It might not lead anywhere at all, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice: it was the only exit. Maenfen grit his teeth, took a breath, and began to make his way forward.

 

* * *

 

 

   Maenfen wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, leaning heavily on his staff and pausing occasionally to take a breath. He didn’t dare heal his injuries himself, not until he had a better idea where he was and how bad things were; he was no healer, and while he was fairly certain he hadn’t punctured a lung—or worse, another organ that he didn’t have a pair of—he was wary of trying to heal broken ribs himself. There might be some complication he couldn’t detect that would only get worse if healed as-is, and he could survive like this, for now. With luck, he would catch up to the rest of the Inquisition quickly, and their healers could look at him then. 

   The chill and exertion helped, he suspected. It wasn’t freezing, but it was cold enough to numb him a little, and the sheer effort of moving was distraction enough. He had been focusing on simply moving forward for what seemed like hours before he looked up and realized the corridor had evened out and begun to take the appearance of worked stone. 

 _Good._ Architecture was good: it meant there was probably an exit, and this place did actually go somewhere at some point, even if it was long-forgotten. It seemed lighter, too, and he extinguished the veilfire in his hand; sure enough, he could see well enough without it. _Also good._  

   Finally, the corridor opened to a small room, full of snow and ice, but with cold, dim light filtering in from ahead. Maenfen let out a little breath of relief, straightening slightly as he headed towards it—not much faster, because he couldn’t quite manage that, but a bit. 

   The temperature dropped sharply as he approached the exit, though, and he could hear the wind outside—and once he’d made his way to it, opening out into the wilderness, it was clear why. 

   There was a blizzard raging outside. A small one, he thought—though Maenfen was no expert—but it didn’t help, reducing visibility to nearly nothing and making the air bitingly cold. The elf let out a harsh breath, hanging back in the meager shelter provided by the ruins he’d left, and tried to figure out what to do. 

   He couldn’t go back—there was nowhere to go back _to._ Maybe he could wait the storm out, but who knew how far the Inquisition had already gotten without him, or how long the blizzard would last? 

   Something caught his eye, through the snow: a light. His breath caught in his throat and he straightened, ears pricking. _Was it…?_  

   The elf pushed himself forward, wincing as the wind hit him and his hair whipped around his face. Shielding his eyes as best he could, he made his way through the snow towards the light, only a few yards away. 

   It was a small fire, burning in the shelter of a broken, abandoned wagon. The fire went out when Maenfen moved the wood and the wind caught it, but it was all the confirmation he needed: someone had been through here recently. He looked up, squinting through the flying snow. 

   There was a trail, faint and hidden by the snow that had been blown into it, but visible, now that he knew where to look. It might have been too big to belong to simple travelers—not that he could imagine _anyone_ travelling here—and that meant the Inquisition, most likely. Regardless, whoever it was, they were better than nothing. 

   Maenfen pushed himself back to his feet and followed it. 

 

* * *

 

 

   The blizzard didn’t let up like Maenfen had hoped, and it hadn’t taken long before he resorted to lighting a fire in his free hand, using it as a focus to keep his body temperature up. His coat and clothing weren’t meant for this weather; they had been designed with Haven’s chill in mind, but not the freezing winds of a blizzard. The extra effort the magic required was draining him even more. At least, he hoped it was the magic; it was just as likely that it was his injuries, or the cold, or a combination of them all. 

   He had been following the trail steadily uphill, he thought—it was hard to tell, when so little was visible—and finally come to a stand of trees, too widely-spaced to belong to a true forest. There were signs of a camp, but the fires had long gone cold and the snow covered much of it; it had been hours ago, at least. Still, it was a sign he was on the right path. He hoped. 

   Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, and Maenfen’s ears twitched. There was no answer, and he hoped that meant it was only the one; even a hungry wolf wouldn’t dare to attack a person on its own, probably. A pack, though…they might be bold enough, out here. He sighed wearily at the thought. 

   His ribs had stopped aching so much by the time he began to make his way through the ankle-deep snow and into the trees, where the wind was at least blocked, a bit. In fact, he couldn’t really feel much of anything, in a general, fuzzy sort of way. Maenfen paused to blink down at his hands when he realized it, rubbing his fingertips experimentally against each other; there was only the faintest sensation, even though he was fairly sure he should be feeling more. 

 _Oh,_ he thought simply, and even his thoughts felt numb. 

   He blinked a few times, then shook himself out of it when the wolf howled again. Sighing, the elf looked up, took a breath, and forced himself onward. 

 

* * *

 

 

   Cullen paced.

   He had been pacing for almost an hour, now, too restless to hold still for more than a few moments at a time. It had been hours since they’d evacuated Haven with everything they could bring, and at first, his concern had been the safety of their people. After fighting through the blizzard, they’d finally found a place to shelter for the rest of the night: a valley in the mountains, not far from Haven, but far enough to be safe. For now.

   So with their people as safe as they could be at the moment, he was left with nothing to distract him.

   He didn’t want to leave the Inquisition, even for a moment; they had been badly hobbled by the sudden attack on Haven, in no small part because they had no clear _leader._ With all the chaos surrounding the attack, it was difficult for Leliana, Cassandra, Josephine, and himself to come to any sort of agreement on anything, short of the obvious fact that they needed to get somewhere safer. And without Maenfen there to snap them all into some kind of order…

_Maenfen._

   The elf hadn’t caught up to them yet. Worse, they had no idea what had _happened_ to him; shortly after he’d left to buy their people time to escape, he’d sent his companions back to catch up—without him. Nobody knew what had happened, but Cullen had heard the whispers: that the herald had sacrificed himself to save them, as nobly as Andraste Herself would have.

   He refused to believe that. Maenfen _couldn’t_ be dead, because that was too unthinkable, too _painful_ to even consider. He had to be alive, and if he was alive, he would have been caught in the blizzard too—alone, and with no idea which way they’d gone.

_That was, of course, assuming he hadn’t been captured, or injured, or…_

   Cullen swept the thought from his mind with an angry breath, stopping. Leliana had been watching him pace, and when he stopped, she asked:

   “Cullen?”

   “I’m going back for him.”

   Cullen turned before she could answer, even though he knew she would stop him, even though he _knew_ it was foolish, because what other choice did he have?

   “ _What?_ Cullen, no!” Leliana straightened, but hadn’t moved to stop him yet, because he stopped on his own. Near her, frazzled and scared, Josephine looked up at Leliana’s raised voice.

   Cullen turned on her, stalking over to brace himself on the table she’d been sitting at. “I am _not_ leaving him out there! He’ll never find us on his own, not with the storm behind us. If someone doesn’t go back—” 

   “Nobody is suggesting we simply _leave_ him, Cullen!” Leliana cut him off. She exhaled harshly, her breath fogging in the air. Behind him, Cullen heard footsteps—Cassandra, it sounded like, no doubt attracted by the commotion.

   “That is _exactly_ what you are suggesting!” Cullen pushed away from the table. “We can’t leave the _herald_ behind, of all people!” 

   “Cullen, I know that as well as you, but what _you_ are suggesting is impractical at best, and suicidal at worst!” Leliana closed her eyes for a moment, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “If he even made it out of Haven—“ 

   Cullen rounded on her before she could finish, snarling, “ _He did._ ” 

   Leliana paused for a moment at his tone, then let out a sharp breath. Beside him, Cassandra stepped up, her arms crossed and her expression dark.

   “The commander is right, we cannot simply leave Maenfen’s fate up to chance. Without him—“ She hesitated, then trailed off, unwilling to voice what was obvious. They _needed_ him: he was the one who could close the rifts, he was the symbol that gave the Inquisition its power, and aside from all that, he was their friend. How could they not go back?

   Leliana closed her eyes for a moment, leaning across the table, and Cullen already hated her expression, because he knew what it meant: she was bracing herself to make the hard decision nobody else was willing to. “Regardless, we have _no idea_ where he could be. You are talking about heading off into the wilderness in the _middle of the night_ without so much as a _clue_ as to where to look—“ 

   Cullen straightened at that, his eyes going wide in realization. _A clue._ He didn’t answer Leliana, turning suddenly to head back towards the tent where he’d left his things in a run, only barely aware of Josephine gasping his name in surprise.  

 _Maker, please let him have brought it._ He hadn’t been thinking that clearly when they’d evacuated Haven, not enough to plan for this, but…it _had_ to be there, surely he hadn’t brought it all the way from Kirkwall, kept it safe, just to lose it _now—_  

   “Cullen?” He didn’t look up at Leliana’s voice, digging through his things in search of the one item he needed. When his fingers closed around a small glass bottle, his heart nearly stopped. 

   He pulled it out into the light, praying it was what he sought. It was unremarkable: no more than five inches long and filled with red liquid, with a paper label that simply had a name and date written on it in a fine, educated script: _Maenfen Tareth, 9:15 Dragon_. 

   It was everything he needed. 

   “Is that—?” The second voice was Cassandra’s. He stood, closing his hands around the bottle and concentrating, for a moment. When he uncovered it, a light had begun to glow in its depths, faint. 

   “His phylactery.” He looked up. “He’s nearby. I can find him.” 

   Leliana was silent for a moment, then she nodded, stepping back. 

   “Hurry,” she said simply. 

 

* * *

 

 

   By the time the blizzard finally let up, Maenfen had been, slowly, reconsidering everything he wouldn’t be able to make up for or do. 

   He was quite certain, by now, that he was going to be stuck wandering this wilderness forever, and he was never going to see another person, and hell, it was probably going to be night forever too—or was it morning? The sky seemed a bit lighter, but maybe he was imagining it—because why not? It should have been frightening to consider, but mostly it was just annoying, and a little funny for some reason he couldn’t place. 

   A wolf howled, and Maenfen snorted. The damned wolves would always be there, though. Or wolf. Whatever. He was almost beginning to feel a sort of vague fondness for the animal, and he wondered if it was the same one that had been stalking him all this way. 

   In any case, though, not seeing anyone ever again meant he wouldn’t get to apologize for…something. Anything. Everything he should apologize for. And he wouldn’t be able to do all those things he’d meant to. And…something. _Something._  

   He tried to remember what the something was, huffing out a foggy breath as he glared at the mountains ahead. 

 _Mountains? Oh. Mountains._ When had he come to mountains? But there they were, rocky peaks rising out of the snow. _Oh._ And nearby, signs of people—a few burnt-out fires, debris from a broken wagon axle, tramped-down snow that hadn’t yet been covered. Maenfen stopped when he came to the center of the former campsite, swaying slightly in place as he leaned on his staff and blinking at the area. 

   Something…there was something, something, _something_ important that this almost reminded him of. What was… _what…_  

   The Inquisition. He was trying to find the Inquisition. Or, Maker, _anyone._  

 _Oh. Yes._ He nodded slightly in agreement with himself, and it made him almost topple over, suddenly dizzy. He let out a breath, his eyes falling on one of the fires. 

   In its depths, embers still glowed, bright red in the dark. 

 _Wait. If…_ He was moving towards it before he could stop himself, kneeling down to brush the ash and burnt wood aside with his bare fingers; he was, briefly, thankful that they apparently couldn’t feel anything, since he realized distantly that was probably a bad idea. There was warmth on his skin and a faint sort of pain from the embers before they dimmed, and he let out a breath, looking up. 

   He wasn’t far. 

   The elf pushed himself to his feet again, his legs shaking under him, and started off, following the trail through the snow. It led to a path through the rocks, which led down into a valley. 

   And, sweet Maker, he thought he saw firelight down there. 

   His body had had enough, though, and when he took another step, it was enough make his knees buckle under him and send him to the ground. It took him a few seconds to finally realize it, and he wondered vaguely if he’d blacked out; though, at least, it still seemed like the same time of night— _or morning?_ —so if he had, it hadn’t been for long. Right? 

   “ _There!_ That’s him!” 

   Maenfen blinked up at the sky at the voice, thinking dimly, _Cullen?_ He wondered if he was imagining it—if he was going to imagine anyone, surely it would be Cullen—before he became aware of movement, and Cullen knelt beside him, his hands going to Maenfen’s face. Somewhere close by, Cassandra gasped, “Thank the Maker!” 

   “Maenfen? Mae, can you hear me?” 

   Maenfen blinked a few more times in response, then realized he should probably answer Cullen’s question. All he could manage, though, was a vague, “Cullen…?” His voice sounded woozy and uncertain to himself. _Was that really him? Cullen couldn’t be here, though, could he? He was…he was…_  

   “That’s not good. We need to get him to a healer.” Maenfen tried to tip his head back to see Cassandra—if she was there, anyway—but for some reason, he couldn’t. Cullen let out a harsh breath, pulling back for a second, and when he next touched Maenfen’s face the elf saw he’d pulled a glove off, though he wasn’t aware of his hand feeling any different. 

   “Maker’s breath, Mae, you’re freezing!” Maenfen was trying to think of a response to that as Cullen sat back, shrugging his overcoat off. He draped it over Maenfen, then moved, and for a second the world tipped erratically when he picked the elf up. Maenfen squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden rush of nausea from so much movement, and found himself burying his face in the fur ruff of Cullen’s overcoat. In a dim, distant way, it smelled nice, and he was vaguely aware of liking the way it felt on his face. Warm. Soft. 

   Maenfen didn’t open his eyes when Cullen moved again, his stomach lurching irritably in response. It was only after a few moments that it finally settled and he risked looking up. Cullen wasn’t looking at him, frowning as he walked. 

   “Cullen? You’re not supposed to be here.” His voice came out in a mumble, but it was enough for Cullen to hear, since he looked down and started to answer. Maenfen didn’t let him, though, continuing, “Are you? You…you’re…” He closed his eyes, then took a breath. Thinking was so _hard._  

   “Hush, Mae,” Cullen said, his voice soft. “Save your strength.” 

   “No…I…if you’re real, then…” He let out a breath, fumbling with Cullen’s overcoat for a moment before he managed to get a hand free. He reached up, watching his fingertips touch Cullen’s cheek, though he couldn’t actually feel it. For some reason, that seemed absurdly funny, but when he tried to giggle at the thought it didn’t work. _Oh well._  

   “Have to tell you.” Maenfen’s hand slipped sideways, his fingertips brushing Cullen’s lower lip. He sighed, then closed his eyes, letting his head slump against Cullen’s shoulder. “Should have…kissed you, back in Haven. Before…” 

   Cullen didn’t answer, and Maenfen trailed off, forgetting what he’d meant to say. Before long, blackness claimed him.

 

* * *

 

 

   It was late when Cullen found himself drifting towards Maenfen’s tent. He told himself he shouldn’t—even if he was restless and unable to sleep—because Maenfen needed to rest and recover, especially since they were leaving the valley tomorrow at first light. He couldn’t help but worry, though, that something had happened to him somehow, just because he’d looked away.

   He was still carrying Maenfen’s phylactery, and it still glowed brightly, alerting him to the presence of the mage it belonged to. He knew keeping it lit was ridiculous, not to mention tiring, but it was more comforting than he’d expected, to be able to look at it and confirm Maenfen was still close.

   He let out a breath, stopping short when he saw Maenfen, awake and gazing skyward. Cullen took a breath, then let it out, approaching the elf before he realized he’d decided to.

   “Mae.”

   His ears twitched and Maenfen glanced at him as he sat down beside him. “Cullen.” His voice was soft. “You should be asleep.”

   “So should you. You, more than me.”

   The corner of Maenfen’s mouth twitched at that, not quite a smile. “I’ll be fine, Cullen. You know I’m tougher than I look.”

   Cullen didn’t answer, just making a short sound in his throat in response. For a few moments, neither of them said anything, until he finally ventured, “…are you alright?”

   “Better,” Maenfen answered. “At least, that’s what everyone tells me.” He sighed. “I…honestly don’t remember much.”

   Cullen swallowed at that, and tried not to remember how they’d found him, or what he’d said. Before he could think about it too long, Maenfen cleared his throat, then glanced at him, his pupils flashing briefly in the dark.

   “Was there something you needed, Cullen? Or are you just making sure I’m not going to get myself into trouble again?”

   Cullen laughed a little at that, but it was a bit tight. “Both, I think.” He took a breath, then let it out, his hand clenching around a small glass vial. He didn’t look down to confirm it, but he felt it when the light died in it. “I…had something for you. To return.”

   Maenfen cocked his head, ears flicking in confusion, before Cullen held the phylactery out. For a second, the elf just blinked at it, until he made out the name—and Cullen _saw_ it when he realized what he was looking at, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open as he took a short little breath.

   He took the vial with trembling hands, staring down at it for a few moments in silence, his thumb tracing his name on the label. Even without Cullen’s prompting, a light began to glow in the depths, very softly; it followed the path of Maenfen’s touch, reacting to the presence of the mage it belonged to. Finally, his voice shaking, Maenfen whispered, “…you…you’ve had it, all this time?”

   “Since Kirkwall,” he answered. “After you left, I found it in the vault. I meant to destroy it, but I thought…” He trailed off, hesitating. He wasn’t sure what he’d thought, at the time; maybe he’d meant to keep it, to use it to find Maenfen someday, but he’d certainly never planned that far. He had barely even looked at it, too afraid that if he did—if he _tried_ —then it might not light up at all. And yet, he’d still kept it, all the way to Haven, and here.

   “But it’s yours,” he finished, “and you should have it back.” He should have returned it months ago, he realized—when Maenfen had first shown up in Haven—but he’d honestly completely forgotten he even had it, then. And though it was hardly something he could have helped, Cullen couldn’t help but be irritated at himself for keeping the phylactery secret for so long. He hadn’t meant to hide it from Maenfen, but he had, accidentally or otherwise.

   Maenfen swallowed, hard, closing his hand around the vial. It shook, and for a second his fingers tightened and Cullen expected him to do the obvious thing—to smash it, right there, and free himself from the surest way anyone might ever use to find him. In his place, who wouldn’t take the chance to slip the leash that had been strangling them their whole lives, after all?

   But, finally, he let out a slow breath, and relaxed. He shifted to take hold of Cullen’s hand, pressing the phylactery back into his palm and closing his fingers around it, before he could change his mind.

   “Keep it,” Maenfen said, his voice soft and his eyes downcast. “In case…you need it again.”

   Cullen didn’t answer at first, unsure how to even respond to the amount of trust Maenfen was placing in him. That any mage—that _Maenfen,_ of all people—might willingly turn their phylactery over to a templar, former or otherwise…

 _…should have kissed you, back in Haven…_ The thought came to mind unbidden: the last thing Maenfen had said to him when they’d found him half-frozen and delirious, just before passing out. It had been important enough that it was the first thing he’d told Cullen, after figuring out who he was.

   Cullen swallowed, then answered, voice soft, “I’ll keep it safe.”

   Maenfen smiled at that, though his hand still trembled when he pulled away. “Of course you will, ser. You have this long already.” He lifted his eyes to Cullen’s, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Before Cullen realized it, he’d lifted his free hand, hesitantly brushing his fingers across the elf’s cheek. His thumb drifted against the corner of his mouth, then slowly traced the edge of his lower lip; Maenfen didn’t pull back, though, just looking up at him with eyes that had always been too beautiful.

   For a second, Cullen almost gave in to the urge to kiss him, to finally tell Maenfen how much he meant—and, Maker help him, if he told Maenfen he loved him now, he would never stop. He took a breath, deliberate and slow, and let his hand drop.

   He sat back, pulling away a little, then stood, even though everything in him ached to stay. _This wasn’t the time._ “You should get some sleep, Mae,” he said, voice soft to hide the way it trembled.

   “You too, ser,” Maenfen answered.


End file.
